


Greater Responsibility

by missmellaneous



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Wade Wilson, Canon-Typical Violence, End game Spideypool relationship, Explicit Language, Fluff, Green Goblin Harry, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Over-powered Peter, Resolved Sexual Tension, Spideypool friendship until Peter is older, Temporary Character Death, Then, Unresolved Romantic Tension, injured peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 08:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12273087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmellaneous/pseuds/missmellaneous
Summary: The spider-bite is ten times more powerful. Everyone learns to deal with it.





	Greater Responsibility

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened.

Peter was dying.

Poison burned through his body, turning his veins molten and his muscles to immovable lead. With sweat coating his body and vision blurring in snatches of consciousness, he couldn’t make his mouth form words to call for help before his eyes rolled back in his head again. A prisoner in his own body, all he could do was writhe on twisted bed sheets, his limbs shaking as at once he felt burning hot and freezing cold.

He was going to die like this. His aunt and uncle would find him in the morning. God, he couldn’t do this to them! He couldn’t. Peter strained to move his body again, and pain flared through his bones. He faded again. _No… please no. They’ll be sad. And we don’t have the money for a funeral._

  

* * *

 

 Morning came. For a long moment Peter lay on his bed looking at the slither of light breaking through his curtains, honestly surprised to be seeing the slither of daylight breaking through the curtains. He… was alive?

“Peter! You’re going to be late if you don’t get up now!” Aunt May yelled, impossibly loud. Peter flinched and slapped his hands over his ears, curling in on himself to protect his ears. Aunt May kept talking, at a lower tone thankfully. “Ben, can you wake him up before you go? I’ve got to get this finished…”

“What the hell?” Peter moaned, the sound vibrating through him as even his own voice came out too loud. A pressure formed in Peter’s head, starting as a weird tickle and growing until the left side of his head was pulsing. Peter groaned again, clapping a hand over his temple to smother the sensation. The door opened like a crackle of thunder into Peter’s brain.

“Hey, Pete,” Uncle Ben boomed. “Time to… whoa kid, you okay?”

“Uncle Ben,” Peter squinted up at Uncle Ben. Every detail of the man’s worried face stood out to Peter, each mark on his skin, each follicle of hair, the texture of his clothes, the smell of his aftershave and soap and toothpaste and coffee all blending together in a barrage of smells. Peter shut his eyes and tried to block his nose with his quilt.

“Son?” Uncle Ben touched his shoulder. “What’s the matter? You not feeling well?”

“Uuh no,” Peter said, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears from his Uncle’s voice. “I really don’t feel good. My head is killing me.”

“All right,” Uncle Ben said, quieter. Thank goodness. “Seems like you’re staying home today. You gonna be okay by yourself though? I can stay home and take you to a Doctor if you need it?”

Peter scowled, willing the pressure in his head to go away. “You don’t have to do that. It’s just a headache that’s all, you don’t have to miss out on work.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause Pete, you know it’s not an issue. You look like you have a fever.” He raised a hand to touch Peter’s head, but Peter dodged it.

“No, I’m fine. I felt a bit hot during the night, but it’s just a headache now. There’s no point staying home. I’m probably just going to lie here, watch some TV.”

“Don’t do anything too strenuous,” Uncle Ben said, pulling back. “Stick to easy going TV shows. None of those action packed thrill busters you kids love.”

“Teletubbies it is.”

Uncle Ben left for work and Aunt May also checked in on him, making sure he knew his options for lunch and that he should call her or Ben if he started feeling worse. Peter reassured her he was fine, it’s just a headache, stop worrying and she kissed him on the check before heading off to work herself. Peter lay motionless on his bed after the door shut behind her.  He listened to the empty apartment and thought that this was definitely not just a headache because he could also hear every little noise of their neighbors moving around their apartments, and the people talking about traffic on the street outside, and the store across the road selling coffee and breakfast to queue of four people, and the apartment above that store where someone was playing loud pop music, and the cars honking beyond that, and the sound of sirens from blocks away, and—

He covered his ears again, trying to ignore the pressure in his head. It seemed to be coming from outside his head, pressing on his skull, like the sirens were trying to drill inside. Peter moaned again, wishing it would stop. Rolling over off his bed, his dry mouth desperately requiring water, he stumbled through his open bedroom door towards the kitchen. He grabbed a water glass from the drying rack next to the sink—and yelped as the glass shattered in his grasp.

“Seriously?” Peter let go of the glass pieces, checking his hand for blood. Miraculously, he hadn’t been cut. Sighing and trying to remember where Aunt May kept the dustpan and brush, Peter reached for the fridge door. He’d just drink straight from the carton, _sorry Aunt May._ It was only this once, desperate times call for— _holy–!_

Peter goggled at the fridge door dangling in his grasp. He’d wrest the door right off fridge body, which was now spluttering dying sounds with flickering lights and sparks flying from ripped wires. He tried to put the door down, but his hand wouldn’t unstick.

“Oh man...” Peter said, staring at the broken fridge. “So not cool.”

 

* * *

  

He had superpowers. He, Peter Parker, had actual real life _superpowers._

In the three days since Peter had broken their fridge, which wow did he have a hard time explaining since he had no clue himself how it had happened. That first night, Peter had sat in the kitchen apologizing over and over again as his aunt and uncle tried to figure out how they could afford to fit a new fridge into their already tight budget. They assured him it wasn’t his fault, it was clearly just a really old and poorly made fridge, but still Peter knew it was his fault. He could feel it inside him. He was different now. He could feel the strength in every shift of muscle in his body. He could physically see the difference in definition, in his arms and legs and abs, muscles that had no right being there as he’d never properly exercised a day in his life outside gym class. Now he looked like an athlete. He was strong. Really strong. So strong he’d been avoided touching anyone in the last few days.

He was scared to hug his aunt or to fist-bump Ned, or about accidentally knocking into someone in the hallway at school and breaking all their bones or something equally horrifying. Luckily so far all he’d broken was his alarm clock, the bathroom door-handle, and his locker at school—for which he got detention due to destroying school property. The locker always got stuck and he’d been busy talking to Ned and automatically used more force to open it—accidentally scrunching the metal up, so now it wouldn’t close. The principal hadn’t believed him, go figure, and Ned had seen him do it meaning Peter to tell him everything else. Ned thought the whole thing was fantastic. Peter wasn’t so sure.

He had to be so careful all the time, gentle with everything and everyone with ironclad control. It was hard at first to do but he was so terrified of slipping up and hurting someone that it was almost always on his mind. So the strength was manageable. Even the weird sticky powers were manageable, after the first couple of days getting stuck to things Peter had worked out how to control it better. If he relaxed and thought about loosening his grip it became a lot easier. He could crawl up walls, how awesome was that? He could even walk or run up them like a ninja if he focused enough, and the more he practiced over the next week the easier it became. He could stick to pretty much any surface like a spider, it was _amazing._  And he was fast! So fast! He could stretch in ways he’d never had thought possible. He could flip and bend and cartwheel everywhere for hours and barely felt tired afterwards. He felt unstoppable every time he allowed himself to test his newfound skills.

Though there were just a few things he didn’t enjoy about the whole suddenly having superpowers thing. Firstly the noise. Oh man, the never-ending noise _always there_. It was like the master volume for Peter’s life had been turned up 110 percent. He found himself almost constantly wearing earphone plugs in his ears, just to block the sound out to a level he could deal with. Unfortunately everyone was always telling him to take his earphones out, his teachers, his aunt and uncle, even Ned would forget and would pull the headphone out of his ear to excitedly ask something super-related.

The second was the vivid detail his eyes picked up. His brain seemed to have lost the normal filter of what was important and what wasn’t. He could see everything in vivid detail all once, like a photograph in his head. It made studying a lot easier and quicker because he only had to glance at a page to take in everything on it, but man did it give him a headache to always constantly see everything. He’d taken to wearing sunglasses during the day walking to and from school to dull things down. Slowly over the week he’d started to feel more accustomed to the new way his vision worked but seeing all got old real fast. Unfortunately his brain seemed to think every mark and stain was incredibly important like, _focus on this bubble-gum stuck to the wall and the three birds on that statue at the same time, Peter, it will change your life!_ Or not.

Finally, the last thing was the headaches. It was as if someone was pushing on his skull at different points throughout the day. He’d be sitting in class and the pressure would start up randomly, making it impossible to concentrate in class. He’d needed to beg off to the sick bay a couple of times it got so bad. He hoped it would get better the same way he was getting used to the vision or hearing or super strength, but it wasn’t getting easier. Every time this weird pressure sense started, he felt like he just had to move or do— _something_ —because something was wrong but he didn’t know what.

Peter tumbled out his handstand to lie flat on his back on the rooftop, looking up at the evening sky. Even right now he could feel the pressure starting up in his head again. Then he heard it. Beneath the noise of the city traffic, he picked up the sound of someone yelping in pain from a couple of alleys away. He wouldn’t have heard anything without his improved senses, but someone needed help. He flipped to his feet and faced the direction of the noise. The pressure moved on his face moved to the center of his forehead as if it was coming from….

Peter froze. _Was he actually sensing… danger?_ The yells got louder and Peter moved, flinging himself across the gap between the buildings, skidding across the cement and brickwork, his foot pressing too hard on one building and fracturing the edge of the roof, sending crumbling bits into the streets below. Peter flipped over and landed on the side of the wall with a too loud thump. The cracks in the cement wall spread out in a web beneath his hands and feet.

“Careful,” he said under his breath, the mantra he’d been repeating for over a week now. The noise of his arrival had made three people in the alley look up at him.

“What the _fuck?_ ” a man in a hoodie said. He was holding a boy in his late teens by the scruff of his jacket. The boy had a bloody lip, his eyes wide with panic as he looked up at Peter.

“Hey there,” Peter said, realizing he hadn’t thought this far ahead. “You mind letting him go?”

“How the fuck are you doing that?” The second guy in a backwards cap with board muscled shoulders said. He pulled a silver pistol from the waist-line of his pants.

“Oh my god,” Peter said and lunged sideways. He jumped across to the other wall, flipping backwards and hand-springing off a fire escape to land behind the men. The two men whirled around too slow and Peter easily grabbed the gun as it came around, crushing the barrel quicker than they could blink. He tugged the ruined metal from the man’s hand and threw down the other end of the alley.

“Holy, what the shit—!”

His danger sense flared from Peter’s left and he swayed out of the way of a blow from the hooded guy, hesitating for a brief moment before— _careful—_ pushing the guy. The hooded man smacked into the ground in a sprawl of limbs.

“Fuck! Fuck!” the backwards cap man said, scrambling away from them. “You fucker, don’t think I’ll forget this! I know your face man! You’re dead, you hear me?”

The hooded guy fled after his friend, cursing both Peter and the other man out. Peter looked at the boy they’d been beating up. The black boy looked shaken but still met Peter’s gaze as he straightened up.

“Thanks man, but you shouldn’t have done that. I could’ve handled it.”

“No problem, they seemed like jerks though. Who wears a backwards cap these days anyway? Like straight out of a nineties movies.”

The boy grinned at him, wiping the blood from his mouth. “How’d you do all that? You some kind of superhero?”

“Uuh…” Peter’s mind short-circuited. “I’ll get back to you on that one. Catch you later?”

“Yeah sure, thanks again man.”

Peter jumped, leaving behind the gaping boy and springing straight up to the rooftops. He crossed several more alleyways until he was a few streets away and stopped behind a water tank, staring at his hands.

Holy-moly, where the heck had that come from? He totally taken those guys out like, wham—pow— _crunch_ , that had been amazing! Was he actually a superhero now? Wow he could be one of the Avengers someday! What if he got to meet Tony Stark? Oh God, what if he got to meet _Captain America?_

Peter let his head fall against the tank, mindful not to dent it. What about his aunt and uncle though? They’d be so worried if they knew. Plus, what that guy had said was true. He knew Peter’s face, he could recognize him somewhere, or track him and his aunt and uncle down. He couldn’t let people know who he was. If he was going to do this he had to wear a mask or something. Holy cow, he was doing this, wasn’t he? He was actually going to be a superhero. What was going to call himself? It had to be something really cool… like maybe…oh _ow_ _that hurt._

Pressure pulsed from his left temple. Peter squinted against the almost pain, realizing that it meant something dangerous was happening. Someone was in trouble again. _Oh no_ , someone had been in trouble every time he’d felt this over the last few weeks, and he’d been ignoring it! Annoyed by it even. Oh geez, but he couldn’t help them without his face covered! He needed a mask pronto. He calculated how long it would take him to get to his house and back to where the danger signal was coming from. At the top speed he’d found he could do, it wouldn’t take long at all, but still someone’s life might be on the line right now! He shot off across the rooftops, speeding for his apartment.

Getting to his neighborhood in record time, his eyes and cheeks stinging from the cutting air, he crawled down the side of the building to his window, luckily left open. He swung in, switched his school clothes for thick cotton blue sweat pants and jumper and threw his red hooded vest jacket over the top. He also decided to pull a long red sock over his face, ripping a hole out for the eyes, and fastened a pair of old swimming goggles over them, to make sure the air wouldn’t sting into his eyes again when he moved really fast. Grabbing a pair of leather finger-less gloves he wore in the winter and boots that went up to his shins, he shot back out through the window still getting dressed even as he climbed to the rooftop.

He ran across the rooftops, heading towards where he sensed the danger coming from. He leapt across a wider busier street and heard people below call out in surprise. He needed a quicker way to get around the city. Even with his super speed, this was too slow. The city was too big. Luckily he had an idea of what he could do.

 

* * *

  

“Woohoo!” Peter crowed, soaring over the streets. Wind rushed through his clothes, the cars and people like beetles and ants below. He rose to the apex of his swing, letting go of one rope of webbing and shooting another from his handmade web shooters. He swung down the next street twisting his body to change direction. Letting go, he rolled into a flip and stretched out like superman did in the comics, shooting out the next web. His webs caught the arm of a crane and he yanked himself higher. The crane jolted, its weight grating as the crane struggled to move against the gears and brakes locking the machine in place.

“Whoops.” Peter hurriedly let go and zipped over to land on the half constructed building for a moment to make sure the crane was going to stay in place. It didn’t shift again. _Careful, be careful._ He didn’t want to web around the city pulling off bits of buildings or windows as he went, he had to only use enough strength to move himself forward.

It had taken him _ages_ to get the webbing formula right. It had to be just the right mix of sticky and strong, versatile, but reliable. He didn’t want to be dropping out of the sky because his webbing snapped on him. A lot of it came down his control again. He had to control whether his hands and feet stuck to the webbing with their adhesive grip or released, and he had to use the right amount of strength when he pulled on the webbing, too much and it would break, even though he’d tested it to hold up to immense pressure and hold a huge amount of weight, he could still break it with ease. Both a good and bad thing as he wouldn’t have to carry around a knife to cut webbing off of things, if need be, and could always escape if he ever got tangled up it in… again… It also took a few more days to get it to dissolve after a few hours. At first the formula would either dissolve after just twenty minutes, or several days. He was still waiting for the first batch he’d made to dissolve.

Finally though, after two weeks of slaving over his homemade chemistry lab and sneaking into the school lab—and running himself exhausted across rooftops trying to help people in the meantime, Peter had gotten the formula _perfect._ He was lucky, in a way, that his aunt and uncle had been too busy working more hours to notice his strange new hobbies. Since he’d broken the fridge, they’d needed to take out another loan just to buy a new one as well as the rent and their bills, which made Peter feel like the scum of the Earth every time he saw the circles under their eyes and how stressed they looked these days. He tried to make up for it by helping out as much as he could, and was thinking he could maybe sell his pictures online or start a Spidey video-blog to get some money in.

Speaking of, his Spidey sense went off again, the pressure coming from around his chin and vibrating through his head. He heard the sirens coming from a few streets away. Leaping off the edge of the building he went into an exhilarating free-fall, all his limbs turning weightless as the streets rushed up to meet him. Rolling his body as he neared the cement, he shot a web out and used just enough strength to send himself bungie-cording back up thirty stories. He bounced from building to building and spotted an armored truck careening down the road, police charging after it. He took in the situation in an instant, even as he rocketed down the street towards the armored truck. The armored truck had leaped up onto the pavement to avoid stopped traffic, sending people screaming and diving into shop awnings and sheltered alleys as it made to speed across an intersection.

The cop cars halted at the pathway, too wary of hitting the terrified pedestrians. The lights changed up ahead. A school bus started across the intersection and the truck wasn’t stopping.

Peter flew down the street, firing a string of webbing at the back of the truck. He spun in the air and landed on the side of a building, grabbing the web with both hands and _yanking._ The truck jolted into flight like a toy—the vehicle jumping fifteen feet into the air and flipping. The whole back of the armored trucks back doors and bumper detached, flinging free of the truck and spinning through the air on the webbing line.

“Oh god, too much,” Peter said and jumped down. He webbed the pieces of the truck against a traffic light post as he fell and then webbed the underside of the still falling truck, making sure to get the entire thing this time. Twisting his body he used his free hand to web a line at a massive advertisement billboard. He braced himself as he caught the truck’s weight—not as bad as he thought it would be, _huh,_ and then just… dangled there in the street holding the truck several feet off the ground.

He could hear the people on inside yelling and cursing and hoped they hadn’t got too hurt by the stunt. The sound of a hundred camera phones clicking descended on Peter from all sides. He could hear the kids on the bus screeching, whether from fear or excitement he couldn’t tell but hoped it was the latter. The police were getting out of their cars looking stunned, all the cars on the intersection had stopped, and literally _everyone_ was staring.

Peter gave a small laugh, so very thankful for his mask. “Uh, hi there. Just your… friendly neighbourhood Spider-man here. Just you know, hanging around. Um, did you catch the game yesterday? The weather sure is nice today, right?”

“Put the truck down!” one of the police officers yelled, aiming his gun at Peter.

“Whoa. No need for guns. I was just helping out,” Peter said, eyeing the barrel. Usually he could web weapons away or move out the way, but he was little busy right now and he was pretty sure being bullet-proof wasn’t one of his superpowers.

“I said, put the truck down now, you freak!”

“Sheesh. Words hurt, you know. So do guns by the way.”

“ _Shut up and put the—_!”

‘Sir, yes, sir! Putting the truck down sir!” He lowered the vehicle back to the road. “Getting the heck out of dodge sir!” He spun another web up to the tops of the skyscrapers and rocketed away from the scene, the meticulously hand-drawn symbol of a spider on his back catching the last sunlight of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> That's the start folks! You should know that tangents will be taken (more fun to write) so this will be mix of movies and comics. 
> 
> Hope to update about once a week but ehh you know how that pesky real life thing is.. 
> 
> Any questions, comments, or words of another nature please leave a message below!


End file.
